


Sixteen

by zombieutopia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Jimmy, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and pain, Coming Untouched, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Endverse Cas...except intimidating and predatory with Jimmy's name, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Manhandling, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, POV Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Student Sam Winchester, Teacher Jimmy Novak, Teenage Sam, Unstable Sam Winchester, mentally unstable Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombieutopia/pseuds/zombieutopia
Summary: Sam Winchester's life was going well for the first time in memory. He went to a new school, had new friends, stayed out of trouble, took his meds, maintained his grades, obeyed his parents. For the last year and a half, Sam had been, surprisingly, successful at not fucking everything up.That is, until Jimmy Novak came along and gave Sam an excuse to tear himself apart.





	1. There's Just Something About You...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AzrielRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzrielRose/gifts).



> Hey everyone! 
> 
> A while back AzrielRose requested a student/teacher fic from me and now, here it is! I really hope you like it, Azriel. :) 
> 
> A couple of housekeeping items:
> 
> 1\. I've learned my lesson about posting WIPs from my Together Forever story. If you are waiting on an update from that fic, I'm super sorry. I am actively working on it and hope to update it soon.  
> With that said, this fic is completed! I'm in the editing/beta stage of chapter two right now and will have it posted in a few weeks. 
> 
> 2\. This is an underage fic. There are SEVERAL levels of consent issues on top of the age problem. Do NOT read this fic if ANY of the tags are squicky or triggering to you. This is/will be what it says on the tin. Read at your own risk.
> 
> 3\. Chapter titles have been stolen from the song 'Bones' by In This Moment
> 
> Okay...with all that out of the way. Hope you enjoy!

Sam was late. The electronic bell hissed over the speakers a second time before he had even turned down the right hall. Each room he passed, filled with students settling in and teachers beginning their lectures, pushed his nerves a little closer to the edge. A little spike of adrenaline had his heart throbbing against his ribs and tried to bring his legs along for the ride, but Sam slowed his pace and savored the momentary buzz in his veins.

He was always on time for class; forcibly habituated over the last year and a half to having his ass planted in a seat well before the bell. But today was the first day of a new semester, which meant tardiness would be easily excused - just this once. Leniency shown for the inevitable chaos that came from getting used to a new schedule and finding new classrooms. He was more than happy to take advantage of that leniency, just this once.

Especially with this class.

Study hall is just a gentle, more political way of saying _“you're a fuck up who can't be trusted to do homework on your own and pass your classes, so here is a chunk of your day where we ensure you will do exactly that.”._

It wasn't the class Sam hated. Ninety minutes of mostly self-guided time where he could read or finish up projects worked for him (he’d rather keep school work in school anyway). No, it was the asshole teachers who reigned over the class that made it miserable.There were two.

Mr. Henriksen was rigid, stiff. Ex-police; He liked rules, order, all no-nonsense business and no excuses. He had one kid in the military and one in the police force, and if his kids could survive and thrive living under his expectations, then by god, so could they for one class a day. Mr. Roman, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. He had all of the boisterous charm of a slimy car salesman with a sadistic streak. He was made up of cheesy smiles, snide remarks, and cruel words. Where Mr. Henriksen spent the majority of the class in their joint office expecting studious and productive silence from them, Mr. Roman spent nearly the entire ninety minutes hounding them and reminding them why they were there. The only thing the two of them seemed to have in common was their general contempt for their students.

On Sam’s first day at this school, a random wednesday halfway through the first month of sophomore year, they had made it pretty damn clear to him that they had been informed - in detail - of his past and that they would not tolerate any slacking off or deviation from him. Mr. Roman seemed to take extra pleasure in reminding him of that fact every chance he got, which was nearly every damn day. And it didn't seem to matter to them that he successfully (somehow, fucking magically) maintained B average grades. Nor did they acknowledge the fact that he hadn’t skipped a single class, security guards hadn't hauled him away to the office even once, no suspensions or notes home, he rarely even had homework to do that wasn't weeks ahead of the curriculum. Sam was in the class, no matter what, until he graduated - if he graduated, as Mr. Roman was always happy to correct. A mandatory study hall class was one of the many requirements for Sam being allowed in. Public school or not, they could deny admission if the student was problematic enough to cause concern.

Sam hitched his backpack a little higher on his shoulder and walked in through the open classroom door. The office immediately to his left was empty, which meant there was no way his late entrance would go unnoticed. An errant spark of something between fear and excitement momentarily twisted his stomach.

“Mr. Winchester! How nice of you to finally join us. Take a seat.” Mr. Henriksen gestured sharply to the dozen or so empty seats in front of him. Sam looked around at the three students already seated, spread out across the room. The same dumbass delinquents he had spent last semester trapped with. No surprises. Sam sighed, walked to the closest seat in the back and threw himself down into it.

“Perfect.” Mr. Henriksen said, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. Sam allowed himself a smirk in response. “Now, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of introducing the new teacher taking over for Mr. Roman.”

Sam glanced up from the new, shitty, jagged anarchy symbol that had been gouged into the wood of his desk to find an unfamiliar face staring back at him. The man sat loose and relaxed at the front of the room, the small plastic chair under him flipped backwards so he could rest his folded arms over the back. Deep blue eyes flickered across Sam and something pulled sharp and tight deep in Sam’s guts. He sat a little straighter under the attention. A small, molasses-slow smile spread across the man’s face. Mr. Henriksen had a look that said he’d been forced to swallow something particularly vile. Anyone replacing Mr. Roman was an automatic win but someone who garnered Mr. Henriksen’s obvious disapproval was instantly someone Sam was happy to have around. It would make things more interesting, at least.

“So as I was saying, this is Mr. Novak. He's just moved up here from California to join us and will be here to finish out the year. I expect you all to treat him with the same respect we expected from you with Mr. Roman. Mr. Novak, would you like to say anything before we get started?”

“Please, Jimmy. I’ve never exactly been a big fan of being called ‘Mr. Novak’...makes me sound old and stuffy.” The new teacher said with a small chuckle. Jimmy stood up and flipped his chair back into its place against the table next to him. “So, I know it's not easy getting used to a new teacher in the middle of the year but I’m not here to change anything or assert my authority over anyone. I'm not even really here to teach. I’m here as a resource for you and to help out however I can. Whatever you guys need me to do to help you succeed.”

Mr. Henriksen sighed through tightly clenched teeth and gave a tight nod to Jimmy before he crossed the classroom, disappearing into their office without a word. Jimmy’s eyes gleamed mischievously, wide, honest smile still in place, as he watched him leave the room. Sam definitely approved; even if Jimmy turned out to be just another hardass with control issues, as Sam had no doubt he would, he was still an improvement. The fact that he was nice to look at - dark, messy curls and tendrils of tattoos peeking out below the sleeves of his ‘The Smiths’ t-shirt - definitely didn’t hurt either.

“Alright, on that note, let's get to work! If you need anything, questions about homework, access to one of the study rooms, someone to talk to, whatever...just let me or _Victor_ know and we'll be happy to help.” Jimmy said. Sam barely held back his snort before he dragged his backpack onto the desk, taking out his headphones and book.

Ten minutes later, Sam was hunched over the edge of the desk, ‘Moonage Daydream’ providing a strange soundtrack for Frankenstein’s monster contemplating the horror of his own creation, when movement on the other side of the small desk caught his attention.

Sam glanced up from his book to find Jimmy seated across from him, leaning back in his chair. The amused, casually devious expression seemed a permanent fixture. Sam pulled out a headphone and waited as Jimmy just continued to simply watch him, silent and expectant. _Not here to assert his authority, my ass._

“...what?” Sam asked, yanking out the second headphone.

“What are you listening to?”

“Uh...Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars…Why?” Sam said cautiously, waiting for the inevitable demand that he put away his ‘distraction’ and get to work.

“Really? Do you listen to Bowie often?” Another slow smile pulled up the corner of Jimmy’s mouth as he continued to look over Sam, eyes squinting in consideration, sizing him up. Sam swallowed down the sigh that crawled up his throat, replaced his bookmark and set the book aside.

“Yeah. I do. He's my favorite musician.” Sam knew he sounded defensive, flipping more attitude than was probably prudent, but he was having a hard time caring. He didn't like being fucked with and he was sure that's what this was; the new teacher playing at being friends before letting his inner douchebag shine through. Jimmy leaned across the small space, dangerously close, and picked up Frankenstein. The scent of mint, sandalwood, and something faintly bitter lingered in Sam’s space, making him feel slightly dizzy as Jimmy pulled back and began flipping through the books pages.

“What's your favorite song by him?” Jimmy asked, looking up at him between page turns and Sam couldn’t seem to look away. The thin shirt clung and stretched over the easy muscles beneath, black and red and deep navy blue ink sunk into smooth tan skin, rough fingers scraping over dry paper.

Sam took a steadying breath. “I don't really know. I haven't exactly found one I don't like…” Sam watched Jimmy flip through his book, eyes now fixed on its pages as if they were endlessly interesting. “I guess if I had to choose it’d be a tie... between ‘All the Madmen’ and ‘Hearts Filthy Lesson’.”

Jimmy looked up at him for a moment, blue eyes puzzling over Sam’s face as if he expected to catch him in a lie, before he abruptly stood up and handed Sam back the book.

“Hmm.” Jimmy paused. “You reading that for class?”

“Um...No.”

“I see. Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. Good to meet you, Sam. Let me know if you need anything.” Jimmy flashed him another bright smile and strolled away, joining Mr. Henriksen in the office. Sam sat for a minute, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, before tentatively popping his headphones back in.

~~~

“Sam, honey, it's time to come down for dinner.” Mary called from the stairs. Sam waited for a second before turning to the next page of his book. “Sam! Now, please.”

“Fuck.” He hissed under his breath and pulled himself to his feet. He forced his face into a neutral expression and trudged his way downstairs.

Mary, Adam, and Arthur were all already seated around the table, chitchating about their days and waiting for him. Sam lowered himself into the seat next to his little brother and set his book on the table.

Arthur looked from him to the book and back, pointing at Sam with his fork.

“No reading at the table. Dinner is family time. You know that, son.”

Sam gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yeah. I know. I wasn't actually planning on reading it…”

“Then why did…” Ketch trailed off when Mary put her hand on his arm.

“Just drop it. It's fine.”

Sam looked down at his meal. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, gravy and green beans. He wasn't hungry but not eating wasn't exactly an option anymore. He spooned waterlogged potatoes into his mouth and let them slowly dissolve, sitting there in a starchy glob, before finally swallowing them down. His stomach gurgled.  
  
He listened to Adam tell them about football practice and Mary relate something amusing that happened in her work meeting, Arthur cracking jokes and playfully teasing Adam about his crush. It all happened around him, near him. He smiled and nodded when appropriate but felt detached, separate, outside looking in.

“So, Sam. How's the new study hall teacher working out?” Ketch asked between enthusiastic bites.

Sam startled a little, pork chop going dry and tough in his mouth.

“Fine.” Sam swallowed down the tasteless lump of meat and shrugged. “It's fine. He’s nice...answers questions, lets me get my homework done.”

“Good. I'm happy to hear they have someone in there that's keeping you focused. That's what's important right now, right?” Ketch said.

Sam nodded his agreement. “Can...can I be excused please?” He asked, hoping the half eaten plate would be enough.

“Of course baby. Just take your medication before you go upstairs.” Mary said, smiling at him gently. He nodded again and got up from the table, taking care of his plate quickly before he snagged the orange bottle from on top of the fridge.

He could feel Mary and Ketch watching him, same as every night, as he twisted the bottle open and pulled out just one round yellow pill. He looked at it for a moment before popping it in his mouth and chased it with a large swig of water. Sam swallowed, tongue shoved flat and firm up against the roof of his mouth. His heart gave a burst of panicked fluttering as the water went down smoothly and his mouth flooded with the sickly sour-bitter taste of melting pill.

He hadn't planned for it, he wasn't sure, but here he was...and it felt...right.

Sam took another swallow of water, using the movement as cover to cement the pill in a place out of the way. He put the glass in the sink and smiled briefly at his overly attentive family as he turned to leave.

“Sam?” Mary said and Sam about puked right there all over the floor. He turned back to look at his mom. “Goodnight. Don't stay up late, okay? In bed on time.” She finished.

“Promise. Goodnight.” Sam said before hustling upstairs, thanking whatever fucked up entity that may exist out there that they had finally quit checking under his tongue.

~~~

“Woah, woah, woah! Hold up...how long has this been going on?” Meg leaned over the short bookshelf between them, the pads of her fingers blanched white with the effort of pulling her weight towards him. Sam paused for a long moment, holding his breath against the reality of what had just happened. His voice echoed in his own ears; the words had just, kind of...slipped out. He hadn't even allowed himself to directly think about it, put words to it, let the idea seed in his brain, but here he was announcing it out loud for all to hear like it was nothing. Sam exhaled slowly and shrugged, trying for indifference, nonchalant, calm. The movement felt wooden. Forced. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

“I dunno...Beginning of term, I guess.” He pushed the book he’d been considering back into place.

“Five weeks?! Seriously? This has been going on for FIVE weeks and you’re just now getting around to telling me? Well come on, Sammy boy! Details.” She smacked her palm loudly against the bookshelf she had draped herself over, earning them a stern look from the librarian.

Sam shot the woman an apologetic smile. “I told you to stop calling…”

Meg waved her hand impatiently at him, dismissing the complaint before he’d even finished...like she did every single time. “No, no! You don't get to change the subject. Now spill.”

“I...I don’t…” Sam floundered. His jaw worked uselessly, chewing on air for a moment as he tried to puzzle through what to say. What details to give. How to satisfy Meg’s curiosity without giving too much away.

It's not that he didn't trust her. He did. Meg was his best friend; she knew more about him than anyone at this school and they spent most of their days commiserating together over the bullshit that was high school hell. He did trust Meg but this? The possible repercussions from this, if she somehow couldn't or wouldn't keep this to herself....

And he’d been doing so well too...

Sam stared blankly at the books in front of him, finally snapping his mouth shut when he realized how dry it had become. He couldn't think of a single way out of this that didn't mean fessing up. Moreover, the idea of doing so - of telling her everything - was starting to sound like a good idea. It'd kind of be nice having an outsider’s perspective; someone to tell him he was crazy and reading too much into shit. Someone to level him out again, before this went too far.

“Sam.” He peeled his eyes away from the books. Meg had a sharp, self-satisfied smirk painted across her face, eyes big and earnest as she carefully articulate each word for him. “This will go so much easier for you if you just cooperate and tell me what I want to know.”

His heart thudded once, twice.

“Fuck. Alright! Fine.You win.” Sam looked around the library, taking in the handful of students and the staff member all working within immediate earshot and ignored  Meg’s triumphant cackling. He reached out, grabbing a fistful of her shirt, and yanked her hard towards the end of the row.

“Hey! Hands off the outfit.”

“Shut up and follow me or I’m not telling you shit.” Sam growled quietly and started winding his way deeper into the library. He heard her snark something under her breath behind him but decided to ignore that too.

As expected, the back corner was deserted. He never understood why; it was the science fiction/horror section but every time he came to browse he always had it to himself. The towering stacks were stuffed and piled high with dusty books, making the air feel dense and close and was particularly effective at muffling noise and voices. Sam crossed his legs and lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against a bookshelf as he waited for Meg to join him. He had no idea where to start, what to say. His fingers chased the half melted lumps around in his pocket. She gave him an expectant look as she plopped down next to him, shoulder to shoulder and Sam took a breath.

“Alright, look...It's...it's probably nothing. I just...I’m probably just imagining it, Meg. Wishful thinking or...whatever.” Sam said.

Meg snorted. “I fuckin’ doubt it-”

“He’s _married_ …”

“Ooh...naughty boy.”

“And a teacher! Really. It's probably nothing.” Sam insisted. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but that sick thrill was roiling around in his stomach again. Goosebumps spread across his skin in a wave at the memory of near-touch body heat and a deep, gravelly voice saying his name.

“But…?”

Sam sighed. “But...If I didn't know any of that, I’d swear there was something there. Flirting or whatever. But it's subtle and... weird…” Sam trailed off, continuing to pick at contents of his pocket through one of the several holes in his jeans.

“Okay.” Meg turned her body to face him, her expression sobered. “This is your study hall teacher, the one with the tattoos? That's who this is about, right?” Sam just nodded in response. He watched her think on it for a second before she continued. “So tell me what he’s doing? Specifically. What started it?”

His mind couldn't settle on just one answer to her question. When did he start getting that nervous flip in his stomach, the ache in his core? Could he even pinpoint what had initially set his teeth on edge, what set that little voice to whispering in the back of his head that this wasn't right, that something was wrong? When had he started to feel like he was back to standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at a long fall in the dark?  
  
The bubble of charged empty space around him. The way Jimmy’s eyes travelled over him, through him, every time Sam entered the classroom.

When Jimmy gave him one of his CDs to listen to, standing close enough that Sam could feel the thick warmth pouring off of him and smell the soap he used, the burger he’d had for lunch.

The class a week back when another student - Sam was pretty sure his name was Garth - had asked Jimmy to help him with a history paper or whatever it was. Jimmy had smiled and answered the insufferably hyperactive kid’s rambling questions for several minutes before settling himself down into a seat for the long haul. Except, Jimmy didn’t sit across the desk from Garth where it’d be easiest to assist him. Instead, he had made himself comfortable at the next desk over, facing the opposite direction. Facing Sam sitting a few rows back. For the first thirty minutes of class, there was loud silence. Jimmy answered Garth’s questions. Henriksen barked a command to settle down, threatening write-ups, at two of the other students when their heated argument nearly came to blows. Sam tried to keep reading his book; he spent the entire thirty minutes staring at the same three words and felt Jimmy’s gaze on him like a touch, slipping across his skin, grazing across angles and lingering along exposed curves. It had Sam shifting and fidgeting in his seat.

When Sam gave up the pretense and shoved his book in his backpack, he was rewarded with one of Jimmy’s easy smiles and the remaining hour spent discussing the best concerts they’d attended and their favorite cheesy horror movies. Garth tried several times to interject his thoughts on whatever detail of their conversation caught his attention, but Jimmy made sure to keep the kid on track.

Sam felt focused on, interesting, different. Appraised.

Preyed upon.

The barrage of memories made everything seem hazy.

He forced himself to stop fucking with the pills, opting instead to thread his pinky through one of his tunnels, idly tugging on his ear. “I don't know. He’s not exactly stuffy like Henriksen...or any of the other teachers, really. You’ve seen him, right, he's chill. He wears band t-shirts and plays guitar in class. He's friendly with everyone...But...he just kind of lets me...be. The others, he’ll push. As soon as the bell rings he’s getting them to sit down and start working on whatever they need to work on. When they finish one project, he makes sure they get started on the next. Except for me. I can kind of do whatever I want in that class without being hounded. At all. I mean, Mr. Henriksen's still kind of a dick…”

Even to his own ears he sounded paranoid, hopeful, delusional. Jumping at shadows.

Meg hummed her response and watched him with a sideways glance for a few moments before she finally spoke up. “Okay...but...you’re way ahead on the coursework, right? You're maintaining your grades. Maybe he knows you don't really need the class so he just isn't pushing you. It's not like the same can be said of the dumbasses you share that class with.”

Despite the itching, niggling need to prove her wrong tapping away against the inside of his skull, something released deep in his chest at her words. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded.

“That's what I thought it was at first too...” Sam said, twisting his earring some more.

“AND? Seriously, Sam, you're killing me here. Just freaking spit it out.” She elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to jostle him but not hard enough to bruise. He grabbed at his side indignantly and shot her a playful glare.

“Alright. Fine, shit! A couple weeks ago I got super bored in class and just for shits and giggles wrote a random quote on one of the unused whiteboards. The next day when I got to class there was another quote written below it and it's just kind of...became a thing from that point on. Everyday we each add a quote to the board-”

“Just the two of you?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Jimmy made it pretty clear early on that its my ‘project’ and no one else is allowed to mess with the board. At first the quotes were mostly just random shit. Favorite authors, lines from books, a short poem...whatever. But this last Monday, I put up an Oscar Wilde quote and I didn't really think it through, I guess. I didn't think much of it, beyond the fact that I liked it...until…” Sam’s stomach gave a weak, electricity-filled churn. “Until yesterday when I saw the new quote Jimmy put up in response.”

Meg flipped her hand on her wrist, impatiently urging him to continue.

“I don’t really know how to describe it. One minute the quotes we were putting up were completely random and the next it...felt like we were having a discussion through them.” Sam swallowed thickly. “The quote I put up on Monday said something about not wanting to be at the mercy of my emotions but wanting to use and control them. Its from Dorian Gray.”

“And what did he put up?” She asked.

“‘Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.’ I looked it up. It's from William Blake. I keep...I can't get it out of my head.” For the first time since they had sat down Meg looked surprised. Impressed, even. She sat there chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment, eyebrows raised. Sam braced himself for the inevitable declaration that he was overreacting and that it was all in his head. He welcomed it. He waited and continued to fidget in the brief silence.

“And how did you respond?”

Sam choked. His heart thudding a little harder in his chest as his ears burned. He swallowed. “Another Oscar Wilde quote.” His voice cracked.

“Which said?” Meg asked, drawing out each word in annoyance.

“...You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all of the sins you never had the courage to commit.”

Meg chuckled dryly and nodded, looking him over before climbing to her feet. “Alright. Lets go.” She said, brushing off her black skinny jeans and stomping the life back into her legs.

“What?”

“Come on. You have study hall after lunch, right? The bell’s about to ring.”

She didn't give him the chance to answer before she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving him scrambling to follow.

  
~~~

Sam trailed reluctantly behind Meg as she shoved her way through the door. They had beat the bell by several minutes and the room was empty, hovering in a sort of pre-period stasis. It was like being in a department store in the middle of the night, temporarily void. Waiting for the predetermined time to be used again and come back to life. Sam hoped she would leave before the class actually started and everyone showed. Meg looked around the room, searching for the whiteboard in question. Sam dropped his shit by his usual desk and pointed her in the right direction, towards the back of the room.

She rounded the corner and stood back, eyes widening as she took in the mess before her. The board that spanned the majority of the wall was nearly filled to max with handwritten script, quotes scribbled in black and blue and green dry erase. They were placed haphazardly, at odd angles and squeezed into any available white space remaining without any discernible pattern or organization. Two distinct writing styles, found in pairs. It looked like indecipherable chaos, without even author tags to differentiate one line from the next. Sam stuffed himself into his chair and watched her make her way through the board. After a few moments she looked over at him puzzled.

“Where…?” She gestured vaguely at the board in front of her.

Sam sighed. “Bottom right.”

Sam stared at the most recent additions; they weren't what he thought. He should have known better than to put up what he had. Either one. He waited for Meg to read them, to spin around and laugh and declare it all harmless. Just more of the same inane game he’d accidentally created and somehow roped Jimmy into playing with him.

Except she didn't.

After a minute, she slowly spun on her heel to face him, head tilted to one side and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Ooooh Sammy! We'll just have to see what he comes up with today, now won’t we?” She grinned, like it was some fucked up game. Sam shook his head and hauled himself up out of his seat.

“No. No...Meg, this isn’t…” Sam hissed.

“Hey Sam! Who's this?”

Sam spun to find Jimmy aimlessly tossing his bag and coat into the office, letting them crashland where they would, bright eyes shifting between his face and Meg’s as he closed the distance between them. Sam dry swallowed, throat sticking against itself uncomfortably.

“Um...Meg. This is my friend Meg.” Sam said.

“Nice to meet you. Jimmy, is it?” Meg snarked and smirked at Jimmy, lowering herself down into Sam’s abandoned seat, leaving him standing before the whiteboard alone. Jimmy merely hummed in response. Sam glared, teeth clenched and praying that some form of best friend telepathy delivered the ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP’ he was silently screaming at her.

“So what have we got today?” Jimmy crossed between them, moving to see the board. Meg, apparently having got the message, blew him a kiss and flipped him the bird behind Jimmy’s back. Another deep hum from Jimmy drew Sam’s attention back, heart crashing against his ribs. A smooth smile melted onto Jimmy’s face, a flash of white teeth and sideways eyes at Sam. Jimmy nodded his approval.

“Wilde again, if I’m not mistaken.” Jimmy said. Sam nodded, unable to fathom trying to use his voice again. “I approve.”

The praise spread like honey through Sam’s chest and he was painfully aware of Meg behind them, analyzing and judging him.

Sam was being ridiculous. He knew it. You’d think he’d be fucking used to it by now. His fingers began worrying the pills in his pocket again.

“Excuse me, Sam.” Jimmy said and placed a warm hand on Sam’s low back, holding him still as he reached for a marker on the metal ledge to Sam’s right. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl and flare bright. All of Sam’s awareness narrowed down to the hand resting just above the line of his low-slung jeans and the body warmth seeping into him as Jimmy leaned into the space between Sam and the whiteboard.

His stomach lurched. He felt like throwing up. He felt like dropping to his knees and begging for more. The throb in his groin and the bitter taste of bile on his tongue overwhelmed the ability to think. He almost missed this. Missed the feeling of being in over his head. Drowning in something raw, something that hurt. Something destructive. It was hard not to miss it while living in all of this...fuzzy numbness and expectation. But locked doors, orange pill bottles, and comfy chairs in suffocating rooms were enough to make him fear that urge just as much as he craved it. Oily sweat pricked across his skin, making his shirt cling to him in all the wrong places.

And then is was gone. A cold void where Jimmy’s hand no longer occupied. Sam took a noisy, shuddering breath and watched Jimmy squeeze his quote beneath Sam’s last, the words pitched almost vertical along the edge of the board. Jimmy’s handwriting was neat and blocky next to Sam’s messy squiggles.

_The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it._

Sam read it and then read it again. The thin sheen of sweat under his shirt turned cold, ran a shiver down his spine as some unknown sensation locked up his breathing.

“There.” Jimmy said as he straightened, replacing the marker back in its place, this time without touching Sam. “I’m curious what you’ll come up with next.”

“Interesting quote, don’t you think Sam?” Meg’s voice floated to him from behind.

Sam read the line again.

“So. Jimmy! How old are you again?” Meg asked, tone amused and beyond obvious. Sam’s head swam a little as his guts tied themselves into writhing knots.

Jimmy turned around to face her and squinted up at the ceiling just as the tardy bell rang.

“Don't you have a class you should be heading to?” Jimmy’s voice had lost all of its warmth.

“I have second lunch period, actually. So I’m all kinds of free and available right now to help Sam figure a few things out…” Meg smiled up at Jimmy, all candy sweet and sarcasm, and Sam startled back into the living.

“English! She’s here to help me with an English project but I-I think we actually need to head to the library for that. Could...um...Could I get a pass to the library...Jimmy?” Sam said, words rushing out of him like breath.

Jimmy’s turned and looked at Sam, harsh frown lines fading away.

“...sure thing.” Jimmy said lightly. “Let me go write that out for you.”

Sam pulled in a deeper breath, glaring at Meg’s smug smile while they waited for Jimmy to return with the pass. Within seconds of Jimmy handing the little mint-green slip over, fingertips brushing along knuckles in the trade, Sam and Meg had grabbed their things and were out the door.

They walked in silence as they made their way through the lunch crowds to the library. Finally Meg glanced over at him.

“You don't even look at a single fucking person with interest the entire time you’ve been here and when you do decide to finally cave, you go and get the biggest fucking hard on for a goddamn teacher.” Meg sniggered, shaking her head a little. “Dude...you are so screwed.”

“Shut up.” Sam snapped distractedly. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you there, okay?” He didn't wait for her reply before he turned the corner and ducked into the bathroom, locking himself in the first available stall.

Standing over the toilet, he shoved his hand into his pocket and extracted the two half-dissolved pills there. He could turn back; swallow the dose properly tonight and make up the missed doses in the morning. Ignore everything but what he was supposed to be focused on. Work his ass off on autopilot and learn to love the faded, dull, numbing fuzziness of the drugs.

_“I'm happy to hear they have someone in there that's keeping you focused. That's what's important right now, right?”_

His low back prickled with heat, sending a shiver down his spine. Sam stared down at his palm, at the pills resting in it, as he slowly tipped his hand sideways.

The quietest little plunk into the water below and Sam pulled the handle and left the stall.


	2. That Feeds the Addict in Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is loooooooooooooooong. Oops. 
> 
> Please make sure to check out all of the new tags for potentially triggering topics!!
> 
> A big, GIANT thanks to my beta reader CC_Sestra for going through this chapter (twice) and helping me work through the rough patches. I really couldn't have done it without her! Any and all mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone.
> 
> This story has a playlist in case anyone wants to listen to some music while reading:  
> \- Sweet Things by The Pretty Reckless  
> \- Follow Me Down by The Pretty Reckless  
> \- Sick Like Me by In This Moment  
> \- Bones by In This Moment  
> \- Coma White by Marilyn Manson  
> \- Moonage Daydream by David Bowie
> 
> The title is from the song 'Bones'

Sam avoided study hall - successfully - like the fucking plague for a solid week. At least, as much as he possibly could without just outright skipping class, an option that had become increasingly tempting as each day passed him by. But this was about _avoiding_ trouble, not inviting more. And it wasn't all that hard. All he needed was a vaguely academic reason, real or imagined, to get a hall pass to go...somewhere, anywhere, else. The library was usually the easiest to justify.

He made sure he was there for the bell, present and accounted for, taking note of Henriksen working in the office or the other students scattered about the room with both a sense of loss and relief, and could usually manage to get Jimmy to cough up a hall pass without too much of a fuss. Sometimes it cost him a quote on the board -

_“Sure...but put something up there for me before you go.”_

or giving an opinion on something -

_“Hey, Sam, I'm trying to decide between a les paul standard or traditional...what do you think?”_

But once he finished jumping through the required hoops, Jimmy would give in and write up the slip, hand it to him with a knowing, patient smile and the light brush of fingertips that would send shocks skittering up Sam’s arms.

Once Sam made it back to the library, he could breathe again. Outside of those few scarce, fleeting minutes every day, five days a week, his life continued on as it had been; sane, rational, expected.

Boring. Suffocating. Monotonous.

Every day was exactly the same and it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Monday through friday he was drowning in school and the never ending make-up work to top of it all off. The weekends were about taking escape where he could get it (books, music, walking around the neighborhood), when he could get it, and keeping his head down in a reasonably expected way. He’d gotten exceedingly good at subtly cheeking his meds and was forever, silently grateful for the growing trust his parents were showing him for his continued improvement and good behavior. The first few days had been rough; he had been sluggish and nauseous and nearly unbearably uncomfortable every second of the day but, this time, he knew exactly what to expect and that made powering through the withdrawal so much easier. Plus, withstanding the withdrawal from a single 100mg tab was nothing; unpleasant but quickly over. Comparatively.

Sam wasn’t stupid; he knew that at some point his carefully constructed façade was going to implode and tear him and his life to shreds. Again.

It wasn’t about _if_ , it was simply about _when_.

But just because it had already started, didn't mean he had to - didn't mean he _should_ \- hurry things along either. He wasn't going to burn everything down for something as stupid as skipping class. So he waited; stuck in some weird sort of limbo, on edge, nervous, avoiding any and all temptations while yearning for something to finally break and take the decision away from him, out of his hands.

It had worked perfectly for a week.

Sam walked into the classroom on the following Monday already strung tight; a new hole had sprouted in the leg of his jeans and the skin around his right thumbnail was ripped and bloody from the constant picking and fidgeting and worrying. Mindless, impulsive, harmless destruction. It felt good, like peace.

He sucked his bloody thumb into his mouth, tasting the salt and copper tang as he dropped his bag onto the first desk by the door. He was ten minutes early and there was no one else in sight. Waiting in the silence was easy.

The moment class started he’d grab the pass as fast as humanly possible, head to the library and spend the period eating shitty junk food and playing cards with Meg and Andy. He had homework to do, a reminder flashing in the back of his mind that he couldn't seem to squash, but equally couldn't fathom actually summoning the self-control required to get it done.

Sam wandered over to the whiteboard and stopped dead, staring at the crisp, clean, white that stared right back at him. He looked around the room slowly, as if he’d find the culprit just sitting there waiting to be scolded, before turning back to the blank wall. Uncertain emotions warred in a torrent inside his skull. He wanted to scream and rage at whoever scrubbed the board clean. He wanted to slump down and take a nap, forget any of it had ever happened. Without the black and white proof to point to, had it? Did it matter? His eyes stung. The silence of the room beat against his ears.

He snatched up the closest marker but wavered in his decision to actually use it, snapping the cap on and off, over and over again, before he finally made up his mind.

Sam was half finished writing down the new quote, standing just a little too close to the board for comfort, when he suddenly stopped, momentarily frozen in place, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, with no idea why. His muscles ached with tension.

A hand pressed against his upper back, nestled firmly between his shoulder blades. Sam didn't even flinch at the contact; he didn't move, he didn't blink, soaking in the bitter-sweet scented heat that was suddenly all around him. A second hand came to rest on Sam’s shoulder and slowly made its way down his arm to encircle his wrist and pulled it away from the half-finished words. Sam watched the marker tip leave the whiteboard, watched the new hand release its hold on him and take the marker from his numb fingers. Sam shifted his gaze to the right, to Jimmy leaning around him, barely managing to not touch Sam any further as he placed the marker back on its ledge. The hand between his shoulder blades found its way to the back of Sam’s neck, firm and comforting, holding him in place.

Jimmy's eyes met his and Sam was a little startled by the intensity there, the commanding presence that had replaced his usual relaxed, almost stoner-like, calm.

“Who…?” Sam managed to choke out, barely above a whisper and gestured vaguely to the wall in front of him. Jimmy grimaced and gave Sam’s neck a little sympathetic squeeze, fingers biting into his skin, before releasing him completely.

“I felt it was time to...retire the board for a while. Focus on other things, don't you think Sammy?”

Sam could feel breath brush along his cheek. He turned to face Jimmy, finding himself almost chest to chest with the taller man, the whiteboard just inches behind his back; the feeling of being pinned down was almost tangible.

“I-It's Sam. D-don't call me Sammy.” He swallowed thickly. Jimmy gave a tight lipped smile at that and hummed his acknowledgment as he looked down at the little remaining space between them and trailed his gaze slowly back up to Sam’s face. Jimmy took another small step forward, pressing Sam in closer to the board but still not quite touching him. His brow furrowed.

“Okay.” It didn't sound like an agreement to Sam, it was placating, like when Meg brushed off the same demand. “But you agree with me, right Sam?” Jimmy spoke quietly, carefully, voice firm. “There are other activities, other responsibilities, that require your attention that you should really be putting your mind and energy towards. So let's set aside the board for now, okay?”

Jimmy watched him for a moment, waiting for Sam’s response. The tingling pool of heat low in Sam’s core flared a little hotter. Sam wanted to lean in, close the distance between them and taste that earthy scent on Jimmy’s skin. He wanted to feel the metal ledge dig into his back as Jimmy pressed him against the whiteboard, feel those fingers dig in deeper as they held him down. Sam did nothing but nod his assent.

“Good.” Jimmy looked over his face for a second longer before he pulled away, taking several steps back and walked to the office without another word, leaving Sam’s head reeling.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, before Sam spun around and scrubbed the words from the whiteboard, and even grabbed the cleaning spray to remove any trace of them. Once it was back to a spotless white, Sam took a seat at his desk and waited for the bell, the feeling of being strung tight and wired was even stronger, his body humming with it as he watched Henriksen and the other students trickle their way into the room. Garth stopped by Sam on his way in, talking at an incomprehensible speed about something Sam couldn't possibly follow and really didn't give a shit about. After enduring a full minute of rambling, Sam glared up at the kid with all of the venom he could muster up.

“Fuck. Off. Garth.”

The kid recoiled a little, looking almost comically offended edging over into truly hurt. Sam found it incredibly difficult to care.

“Geez dude! Ya don't gotta be mean...or rude.” He said, shaking his head solemnly as if he were deeply disappointed. Garth stood there, a childlike frown creasing his face, and waited. Sam simply continued to glare back up at him and silently marvelled at the longest period of silence he had ever known the kid to observe. When the realization finally hit Garth that Sam wasn’t planning on apologizing or whatever it was that he had expected, he let out a huff of breath and started to walk away but stopped mid-stride.

“I thought you weren’t like the other asshats in here, Sam. I thought you were better.” Garth said.

“You were wrong.” Sam gritted out through clenched teeth and tried to ignore the little stab of regret that rose up in him. He watched the kid hunch over and slink back to his spot at the front of the room without another word.

The moment the bell rang over the speakers, Sam was up and out of his seat. He stood in the doorway of the office and waited, watching Henriksen filling out paperwork at his desk on the left and Jimmy leaned back in his chair, apparently reading, on the right. When neither of them looked up and acknowledged him, Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“No.” Henriksen’s reply was instantaneous.

“Uh...I was...wondering if I could get a pass to the library? I have a-”

“And I said no.” Henriksen shifted in his chair to face Sam. “You spent all of last week in the library, I have faith that anything you actually needed to get done has been accomplished. If you have anything left to do, you can finish it here in class. Now go sit down.” Henriksen stated before turning back to his work, matter closed.

Sam glanced over at Jimmy, hoping he'd have mercy and let Sam go anyway, but he simply watched Sam over the edge of his book with an indifferent expression. Sam’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Ji-” Sam started but Jimmy cut him off, voice hard and brooking no arguments.

“Victor and I are in agreement on this matter, Sam.”

Henriksen’s nostrils flared in annoyance, the muscles in his jaw twitching at the casual use of his first name with a student but he remained silent. Jimmy went back to his book and Sam stood there, once again ignored and stunned, for several heartbeats before he turned hesitantly from the office and sat back down at his desk.

Sam fidgeted in his seat, staring blankly into space, with his heart racing. Part of him wasn't exactly sure what was happening, what had happened. Had he pissed Jimmy off somehow? Was he being punished for something? He shouldn't have fucking started the whole quote bullshit, but he had and now, predictably, he was screwing things up. Again. Jimmy wouldn't even talk to him now and it was his fault. Of course it was. At this point, even fucking this up felt good.

Another, calmer, part of him felt he knew exactly what was happening. Jimmy was leaving him to squirm, forcing him to act. This was what Sam had been hoping for and desperately avoiding, someone taking the decision away from him. His thumb was glowing with a sticky-itch that let him know he’d ripped the skin further without even noticing. It was probably bleeding again. He dug at it some more and loathed how inadequate the sensation was. The unfulfilled need made him ache under his skin.

He wasn't sure he could survive ninety minutes of this every single day. He’d lose his mind.

After what felt like forever, Sam finally pulled out his CD player and headphones from his backpack and peeled himself out of his chair. By the time he had planted himself down at the only computer in the room, the deep bass and heavy drums beating in his ears were helping to soothe the anxiety.

 _A pill to make you numb,_  
_a pill to make you dumb,  
a pill to make you anybody else_

Sam leaned into the singers voice, grating in his ears, and let it supplant his own racing thoughts. He spent the remaining hour skimming through the cliffnotes online for the next two English assignments he had, using every ounce of self control he still had to sit and take notes for the essays he was technically supposed to write. It’d be so easy; get a pass to go to the bathroom, slip out the side door, leave through the student parking lot exit, and just disappear for the day. Maybe the week. Maybe longer. Find something somewhere that would help him numb out the world and just let himself slowly rot away.

Sam peeled the cuticle up off of his thumbnail in one long strip, making the blood well up and roll down his hand satisfyingly and mechanically worked on his half-assed papers until the bell.

Jimmy smiled at him from the office as he walked out to head to his next class but said nothing.

~~~

Sam made his way across the cafeteria and out into the courtyard that opened out to the student parking lot. A quick check for security guards and Sam slipped around a far corner, out of sight. He made his way to a small windowless alcove that sat closest to the main road. Little puffs of white and blue-grey smoke drifted from the area. It wasn't exactly subtle but somehow no one bothered them.

Sam rounded the last corner, slipping into the shadowed alcove to join Meg and Andy and a few others. Andy was passing a smoldering joint to a wide-eyed girl next to him. Meg sucked on her cigarette looking unphased as he leaned against the wall next to her.

“Thought you didn't smoke, dude.” She said, taking another quick drag. Sam shook his head for a moment.

“Can I bum something off one of you?” Sam asked. Meg’s eyebrows shot up a little but pulled out a new cigarette for him without comment and passed it to him along with her lighter.

Sam lit the cigarette with a grateful inhale and passed the lighter back.

“Thanks.” He said through a cloud of thin smoke. She nodded but said nothing. She’d probably demand answers from him later but, for the moment, she seemed content to let him deal with whatever this was in silence. Sam was grateful for that too. He could feel the nicotine hit his bloodstream, enjoyed the calming tension it instilled, the ache in his chest. The knowledge that he was doing something wrong, something he knew he’d be in deep shit for if someone found out, that was its own kind of soothing balm.

Sam was half finished with his cigarette when Andy finally noticed his presence.

“Oh, uh...you want some Sam?” Andy looked up at him, a little drowsily, as he offered up the joint. A brief second of hesitation as the look on his mother's face when she yelled at him, his therapist filling page after page of notes, his tiny room at the group home, the little yellow pills, Jimmy’s hand gripping the back on his neck all flashed through his mind in crisp clarity and Sam concluded that it was exactly what he needed. Sam reached for the offered joint and took a deep inhale of the pungent smoke, before passing it back.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” Sam said, coughing a little. At least the buzz would help him get through class.

“Dude...what is going on with you?!” Meg finally said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. He just shrugged and shot her a dark look, knowing she’d just shrug it off.

“Nothing, alright? I told you I used to smoke. I was craving one, so here I am. Don't make a big fucking deal out of it.” Sam took a final pull on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and grinding it under his heel. “Lunch is over. I gotta head to class. See you guys later.”

“Whatever weirdo! See you in fifth!” Meg called after him as he walked away.

  
~~~

 

Sam crossed the classroom threshold the moment the bell rang, head just fuzzy enough to keep the anxiety at a low boil as he slumped down into his normal seat at the back.

He didn't even bother asking for a pass. The last four days Henriksen had maintained his strict control over the hall passes and Jimmy seemed perfectly content to just let it happen, like he was happy to take the provided opportunity to watch Sam unravel.

With a sigh, Sam pulled himself over to the computer again and started his the arduous process of pretending to be busy, headphones popped in his ears, volume on blast. The suffocating, everyday sameness was rapidly decaying his brain, he was sure. He expected it to start leaking out of his nose any day now.

Twenty minutes later he was slogging his way through editing one of his papers. His head was unfortunately losing its cottony calm but the nicotine kept his veins thrumming nicely, when Jimmy pulled up a chair next to him and sat down. Sam startled a little, ripping out his headphones in one jumpy movement.

“Hey, Sammy. School work?” Jimmy’s voice was light, relaxed, unsuspicious. Sam wondered if he smelled more like weed or cigarettes and fought to ignore the name slip up.

“English paper, due next week.” Sam moved the computer monitor a little, letting Jimmy see the word document with actual homework written in it. His eyes never left Sam’s face as he hummed what sounded like approval.

“How’re you doing? You’ve seemed…” Jimmy tilted his head a little and looked at Sam in a way that made his face flush. “Distracted, over the last couple days, lets say. Everything okay? Anything I should know?”

“No. No I'm...I’m good.” Sam shook his head, buzz now completely gone. Jimmy quirked one eyebrow, a smirk sliding onto his face.

“Really?” He sounded accusatory, skeptical. Jimmy hummed again before learning forward towards Sam, elbows on his knees. “...Can we chat for a few minutes after class? I feel like there are some things we need to go over, okay?”

Sam felt like someone had shoved a bag over his head. There was no more air left on planet Earth for him to breathe and he was fairly sure Jimmy should be able to hear his heart making an attempt to crack open his ribs and escape.

“O-okay.”

“Perfect. Much appreciated, Sammy.” Jimmy said and stood, squeezing Sam’s shoulder as he walked away to help Garth, who was having a mild meltdown behind him.

The rest of the class was a blur, dragging by agonizingly slow while the clock ticked away far too fast and Sam got nothing done. He stared at the clock and out the window, ripping new holes in his jeans and craving another cigarette to calm his nerves. When the period did finally end, the room emptied out faster than he’d have liked, leaving him stalling, packing up his bag as slowly as possible in the deafening quiet.

Sam had just stuffed the last notebook into his bag, drawing the zipper closed as Henriksen stepped out of the office holding a small stack of files and paused, taking in Sam standing in the middle of the room, the only student still present. He watched Henriksen's face wrinkled into a frown as he turned to look back into the office for a moment before returning his attention to Sam.

“Hurry it up, Winchester. You’ll be late for next period.” Henriksen said and gestured to the open doorway with his papers and waited.

Sam choked down the automatic ‘yes sir’ that wanted to crawl up his throat and fall out of his mouth. Nausea at the habitual response, still ingrained deep after all of these years, rolled through him but faded away almost instantly.

“I just gotta finish packing up. I’ll make it in time.” Sam said. Henriksen stared at him, jaw muscles clenching as his expression darkened a little more. He threw another glance back in to the office then looked down at his files before turning and briskly walked out of the room.

The clock ticked, booming in the sudden quiet. Or maybe that was his heart...

“Sam. In here, please.” Jimmy called from the office, sounding almost formal, just a few seconds later. Sam swallowed and took a slow, purposeful breath, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder as he made his way to the office doorway.

Jimmy sat at his desk, writing rapid notes as he flipped through his own small stack of papers. The only light on in the room was a low wattage desk lamp, glowing orange in the cramped little space.

“Come in and shut the door.” Jimmy said distractedly, not looking up from whatever it was he was focused on. Sam hesitated, just a little, before doing as he was told.

The door clicked shut. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot and waited, pressing his back into the closed door, hands stuck in his pockets to keep them still. After a moment Jimmy set down his pen and swiveled in his chair to face him, blue eyes almost black in the gloom, searching over Sam’s face. He looked worried, concerned, and Sam suddenly didn't feel so sure about why he’d been kept after class.

“Sam…” Jimmy huffed out a sigh. “you know that the things we talk about and do together...exchanging music, movies...the quotes...those things are special and should stay between us, right? You get why it would be a bad idea for you to include others in that? To tell someone?”

Sam felt the tension he’d been holding dissipate even as Meg’s face flashed through his mind. He took a deeper breath. Sam knew exactly what Jimmy was getting at. He’d expected nothing less.

Sam wetted his lips.

“Y-you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to tell anyone, Jimmy. I know better.” Sam said.

Jimmy sucked his bottom lip through his teeth, expression darkening, eyes hooded and calculating as he considered Sam. It made Sam feel light headed, blood rushing through his body in various directions, as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

Jimmy smoothly rose from his chair and crossed the room in two easy strides.

“Mmmm...Good. I knew you were going to be a smart, good boy for me. Aren't you, Sammy?” Jimmy said quietly, hushed, his voice gravely and intimate in the minimal space between them. The arguments that Sam wanted to make about being called _smart_ , being called _good_ , about _not_ being a goddamned kid, got clogged in his brain and stuttered to a halt as he pressed himself harder up against the door. It didn't make a difference, Jimmy pressed himself slowly into Sam’s space anyway, his large hands wrapping around Sam’s slim hips, fingers digging in hard as he pulled Sam’s body against his.

Sam wasn't sure what to do; where to place his hands, where to look, if he should say anything. His heartbeat thundered in his head and between his legs as Jimmy broke eye contact to nuzzle his face into the side of Sam's neck, brushing his lips gently along his skin.

Sam realized the ragged whimper being torn from his throat was muffled by Jimmy's chest where he had mindlessly buried his face, his body straining against Jimmy's hands that held him still against the wall. Sam shivered where he stood, adrenaline surging through him stronger than either drug still in his system.

Jimmy inhaled deeply as his lips trailed up his throat, coming to rest behind Sam's left ear. He paused.

“But if I catch you coming to class stoned again, you’ll regret it. That's when people start asking questions, Sam. That's how you get caught.” Jimmy whispered into his ear before pushing away from Sam, leaving him gasping for breath, and calmly returned to his seat. Sam watched, head still reeling, as Jimmy pulled out his pad of mint green slips. Sam hadn’t even heard the bell.

Jimmy held out the hall pass excusing his late arrival to algebra, but held onto it when Sam shakily reached for the paper.

“Stop fucking up. Or this ends.” Jimmy said, tone hard. Almost angry. Sam nodded, swallowed against the tears threatening to rise.

“I-I’m sorry, Jimmy. It won't happen again. I swear.” Sam whispered, not trusting his voice for more.

Jimmy released the piece of paper, a smile warming away the hard frown lines.

“Good. You better get to class then, Sammy. Have a good weekend.” Jimmy said and then returned to his work without another word. Sam fumbled for the door handle, swinging it open as he stuffed the pass in his pocket, leaving the classroom on weak legs.

Sam made his way to the closest bathroom as fast as humanly possible without just outright running for it and locked himself in a stall, taking several deep breaths as he yanked open his jeans and braced himself against the wall.

Jimmy's scent was all over him, his throat cool and tacky from traces of Jimmy's saliva. Sam shivered, almost violently, as he gripped the base of his throbbing cock. Just a couple of rough tugs and he spilled into the toilet with a gasp, teeth clamping down on his arm through his hoodie to muffle his moans. When the last shudder finally passed, he hurriedly cleaned up and tucked himself away, flushing the evidence before he rushed off to fifth period.

~~~

Sam hadn’t been able to get Jimmy out of his head - or the feeling of him off of his skin - all weekend.

When he had left school on Friday, a strange sort of calm had settled down deep in his bones. The restless, strung out tension that he had been bound up in, that had been eating away at his tender insides, seemed to just unwind and melt away. Even his therapist had noticed the difference; who, sounding almost comically proud and encouraging, announced that evening that based on his continued improvement and stability, she would be lowering his prescription. Sam had smiled and thanked her, bit down on the bitter laughter that wanted to bubble up and made his bullshit promises of continuing to try to get better as the memory of Jimmy’s lips trailing along his skin played over and over behind his eyes.

But when he stumbled out of the shower far too early in the morning the next day, his eyes got caught on his mirrored reflection and the purple-blue pale bruises that decorated his hip bones. The shadows of Jimmy’s fingers embedded in his skin. Sam was examining them, reveling in the reality of them, when he suddenly found the need for more, the intense and urgent ache to be touched by him again, bloom into a near physical craving.

By Monday morning, Sam felt like a junky in desperate need of a fix. He wasn't sure how he made it through the first half of the school day. From the moment he’d stepped off the bus, all he could think about and focus on was getting more, getting out, getting away. Something, absolutely fucking anything, to take the edge off and let him get through the day without wanting to scream.

Sam felt the constant pull of the smoking corner with all its promises of chemical release, something to calm his nerves and let him coast through the day, but Jimmy's voice ringing in his head kept him well away. Excitement and dread carved chunks out his chest; he couldn't fathom how we would manage sitting in the same room with Jimmy, surrounded by classmates and Henriksen's watchful eye.

It wasn't a conscious decision; the moment class had ended and the lunch period began, Sam shoved his backpack into his usually neglected locker and set out across the building, bypassing his usual lunch time haunts without a glance. It didn't even occur to him to see if Meg was skipping class again or if any of the others were waiting on him. It’s not like he’d been particularly social over the last few weeks anyway.

Before he had really acknowledged to himself where he was heading, why he was heading there, he found himself standing in the hallway staring blankly at the closed classroom door.

The door was never closed. The frosted glass window looked dim in the absence of the fluorescent lights beyond and Sam fully expected the door to be locked, negating his non-existent plans. A tiny little part of him wanted to celebrate the provided reprieve and flee to the temporary safety of the lunch period.

But he didn't. Sam took a deep breath, the cool air snaking down his throat was almost sickening, and tried the door.

It swung open easily and Sam was greeted with the dim room beyond; white light from the cold, stormy day outside bathed the room a gloomy blue. It seemed deserted but for the quiet music that pulsed from the office, a Bauhaus song Sam vaguely recognized, slow and erratic.

Sam took a step in and let the door click softly shut behind him. He could see Jimmy sitting reclined at his desk in a little island of burnt orange light, laptop balanced precariously across his knees. He didn't seem to notice Sam, eyes trained intently on the screen before him, until Sam took the last step into the office. A look of surprise flickered across Jimmy's features before it was quickly replaced with a wide, dangerous smile that sent electricity zinging along Sam’s skin.

“Hey Sam...What brings you here so early? Don't you have lunch?” Jimmy asked. He picked up the laptop, hitting the spacebar with a quick jab, and set it aside. Sam felt the need to reply surge forward and brush against the inside of his lips, threatening to break through, before it retreated as a lump lodged in his throat. He didn't know what to say. He swallowed down the aborted words, mind swirling blankly as he searched the floor for answers. Jimmy hummed, a deep rumble that could have been a held back laugh. When he spoke again his voice was quiet; darker and harsher in a way that made Sam’s pulse jackrabbit in his throat, flushing his face and burning his ears.

“Go and lock the door, Sammy.” Jimmy said. Sam heard the creak of Jimmy's chair as he turned automatically to obey. His hand trembled on the door handle. He could leave; just open the door and walk out, grab a cigarette, start a fight and get himself suspended, spend his study hall period tucked safely away in the principal’s office awaiting Mary's arrival.

It was too late for any of that.

Sam pushed the door’s lock, the soft snick of the metal engaging loud in his ears, and turned around to find Jimmy looming in the doorway watching.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jimmy said, tilting his head towards the rest of the classroom. “I’ll be out in just a sec.”

He simply nodded and wandered out into the middle of the room, unsure of what to do, where to sit, how exactly to get comfortable in a situation like this. Everything inside him felt pulled tight, taut, buzzing in uncomfortable nervous energy and trapped inside a calm, resigned shell. He couldn't deny that there was a sick part of him that enjoyed it.

Sam focused in on the sounds floating to him from inside the office; the shuffling and banging of opening and closing drawers, clinking and scraping of items being gathered and moved, fabric rustling and zippers being zipped up until the only remaining sound was Jimmy’s footsteps growing closer.

Sam braced himself for the hand on his back, the lips on his neck, a repeat performance of every time that had come before, but it didn't happen. Jimmy strolled casually past and propped open one of the windows, producing a small flask and a large joint from his jeans pocket before perching on top of one of the nearby desks. Sam watched as Jimmy lit the joint with a steady hand and a long, deep inhale. Sam felt like his whole body was vibrating with anticipation while his mind was a side-step away, just a little to the left, until Jimmy looked up at him and everything came crashing back together again.

“Come here.” Jimmy’s voice was low and gritty with smoke. Sam weaved his way through the labyrinth of desks and didn't even hesitate as Jimmy spread his legs so Sam could fit himself between them. Jimmy held up the joint in offering.

“I thought you said I couldn't get stoned anymore?” Sam said, a little surprised by how easy the words formed, how teasing they sounded. Jimmy chuckled.

“Mmmm...this is different. It's just us now and I don't have to worry about you getting caught.” Jimmy said and gestured for him to take the joint again. Sam accepted it without a second thought, sucking in a deep lungful and almost immediately coughed the smoke right back up. It was thicker, far more fragrant, than the thin stuff he had sampled from Andy. This stuff burned his lungs and made his eyes water, but he could already feel it making his head slow and hazy.

Sam swept the tears from his face and eagerly took another hit before relinquishing it back to Jimmy's waiting hand. This time he managed to hold the smoke deep in his chest for a few heartbeats before exhaling it. It made a difference. Jimmy hooked his ankles behind Sam’s thighs and drew him in even closer, giving Sam the perfect opportunity to melt into the close contact, forehead bumping into collarbone.

Sam chuckled into Jimmy's shirt, head swimming pleasantly and finally relaxed. The knowledge swept over him that he felt good; numb and warm and absolutely uncaring about absolutely anything beyond just letting go and chasing the feeling.

Sam jerkily pulled himself back up again to look at Jimmy's face, who had an eyebrow arched in question as he took another puff himself. His ocean blue eyes were still clear and focused.

“You left bruises on my hips, you asshole!” Sam said without any real heat, another giggle bubbling its way up. Jimmy smiled wide at that, a hint of white teeth flashing as he crushed the still-smoldering joint out against the metal windowsill and picked up the flask. Jimmy glanced at him, a small chuckle rumbling down low in his chest in a way that made Sam’s toes curl in his shoes, before swallowing two large mouthfuls. Sam could smell the syrupy astringent scent coming from the flask and got distracted by the drag of the flasks edge across Jimmy’s lower lip and the tongue that followed in its path, chasing any stray drops left behind.

Sam’s breathing hitched, muscles jumping involuntarily, as Jimmy closed the small distance between them. Sam was acutely aware of the legs firmly wrapped around his hips, drawing him in closer, the firm chest pressing against his, the rough stubble scraping along his cheek as Jimmy breathed into his ear.

“Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, Sammy. You’ve been practically begging me for it since I got here.” Jimmy pulled back just far enough to meet Sam’s eyes. “Because you’re just that kind of twisted, aren’t you? Wanting me to push you around and fuck you up good...Maybe we’ll start with that sweet little mouth of yours, hmm?”

The fuzzy heat in Sam’s head was spreading out; sinking down deep and low, loosening up his limbs and pooling between his legs. Jimmy’s words rang in his ears, playing repeatedly as comprehension slowly pieced itself together. He sucked in a heavy breath to agree...or argue. Did it really matter? But before he could do more than part his lips, Jimmy kissed him; sloppy and demanding, he tasted of pot and bourbon and bad intentions and anything he had been ready to say dissolved.

This was everything Sam _wanted_.

A pathetic whimper bubbled up his throat and Jimmy eagerly devoured it with tongue and teeth.

Jimmy ended the kiss with a rough shove to Sam’s chest, sending him stumbling backward, barely managing to keep his feet under him as he crashed against a nearby chair.

“Mmm. Yeah, that's what I thought.” Jimmy said, licking his lips again. The smug derision in Jimmy’s voice wasn’t lost on Sam.

Jimmy slid off the desk in one fluid movement and came to stand before Sam. His smile was feral as he tugged the button and zipper of his jeans apart, pulling out his erect cock. The head flushed a deep red and shiny-slick. He was much bigger than Sam had expected.

“Down on your knees.” Jimmy commanded and Sam didn’t even stop to think about it, even as fear tried to battle its way through the lust and drugged fog clouding his mind. Sam closed his eyes and let himself crash onto the floor, kneecaps grinding hard into cold tile. He didn't reopen his eyes as he listened to the heavy quiet, the sound of rustling fabric, the almost wet scrape-slap of skin on skin.

When something hot and spongy brushed against his cheek, Sam flinched but held himself still, kept himself plient. Waiting.

“Open your eyes for me Sam.” Jimmy said and Sam complied, shivering in expectation as he looked up at Jimmy’s flushed face.

“You know what to do with this? You’ve taken one of these before, right?” Jimmy asked as he smacked the purple-reddish head of his cock against Sam’s cheek again. Sam swallowed the excess saliva flooding his mouth and nodded. Yeah, he did. He had.

“Yeah, of course you have.” Jimmy groaned, giving his cheek one more hard slap. Sam could feel the slick smear of precome cooling on his cheek. “Open.”

Sam let his jaw fall slack. The pot made his throat feel uncomfortably numb and tingly but his focus quickly narrowed to the hot, velvet glide of Jimmy’s cock across his tongue, stretching his mouth wide and wider until the head nudged the back of his throat. Jimmy paused there for several heartbeats and Sam revelled in the weight of it on his tongue, the musky salt taste, the ache in his jaw. Drool welled up along the edge of his lips before dripping down his chin and Sam swallowed reflexively, tongue pressing up against the intrusion. Jimmy’s shuddering gasp above him felt something like praise, like approval, and seeped down deep into Sam’s chest like warm honey. Fingers threaded their way through his hair and curled in painfully tight, holding him still and steady as Jimmy began to move.

What started out as a slow rhythm, a light drag of the head across Sam’s tongue, rapidly devolved into hard, punishing thrusts. Each retreat was just long enough for Sam to gasp a needed breath before Jimmy shoved forward again, making him gag and choke around the cock pressing harder and harder against the back of his throat, threatening to delve even deeper. It hurt; a split in his lower lip stung as each thrust spread it wider, the muscles in his jaw ached from the strain, and the back of his throat burned with the repeated force against it.

The sound was loud in the quiet room, wet and obscene and out of place. Sam tried to ignore the tears streaming down his face, the saliva dripping on his jeans and simply focused on getting enough air in through his nose.

A particularly brutal thrust had Sam’s stomach heaving even as it cut off his ability to breathe. Panic began to claw at his insides as the pressure mounted behind his eyes, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as panic bled into blind fear. Sam’s hands scrambled up to the jean-clad thighs just a few inches from his face and shoved at them to no avail. Jimmy’s hands clamped down at the base of his skull and held him firmly in place, preventing him from squirming away. Just as Sam’s lungs began to burn with need, chest muscles spasming ineffectually, Jimmy released him and took a step back as Sam collapsed forward, coughing and spluttering as he hauled in a desperate breath.

“There's a good boy.” Jimmy said, voice low with lust. This time it didn’t feel like praise. It didn’t feel like anything at all, but it still helped dampen down the fear just enough to ignore.

He felt that familiar sick, weight settle heavy in his chest and hollow out his stomach. He was so used to it by now. He didn’t want to want it. Didn’t want to enjoy the _wrongness_ of it but at some point somewhere along the way loathing and fear had turned into craving and he had chased that feeling with everything he could; a razor blade, a cigarette, a pill, a rough fuck. He felt lost without it, playing games at being human, and finally giving into it again almost felt like finally getting to rest.

Funny how often the infection and the cure can be one and the same.

Sam licked his lips, tasting blood, and smiled up at Jimmy. Challenging him, inviting him, to do more. One dark eyebrow arched high in response before the older man grinned back, toothy and feral. The exchange was visceral; terror and disgust and desire spiraling out of control between them.

“Get up.” Jimmy said, flicking two fingers towards the ceiling for him in case the words were somehow lost on him. They weren’t. Sam climbed to his feet, knees screaming in protest at their previous abuse in a way that told him he’d have bruises later. He doubted they’d be the only ones he walked away with. Jimmy pressed up against him again and seemed to lose the last shreds of his usual restraint. Sam couldn’t hold in the surprised, pained moans and whimpers as Jimmy kissed him again, hard, teeth clicking together with the excessive force of it. One of Jimmy’s hands snaked its way up under the hem of Sam’s shirt, nails dragging along the expanse of his back as the other dug into the globe of his right ass cheek. Sam breathed in the warm air between them as Jimmy’s kisses and vicious nips travelled lower and threaded his hands in the dark messy nest of Jimmy’s hair.

“Oh fuck…” Sam gasped, eyes shooting half open as Jimmy bit down on the curve of his neck. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, pushing Jimmy’s still slick cock up along his stomach.

“So needy…” Jimmy chuckled against Sam’s overheated skin, sending goosebumps prickling down his shoulders, made worse by the long, hot stripe Jimmy licked along his collarbone. Sam shivered.

“Please.” Sam choked. His throat clamping down a little too late to stop the word from escaping past his lips. He hadn’t meant to. Jimmy paused for a millisecond before lightly dragging his teeth along the thick muscle standing out on Sam’s throat.

“Hmmm? What was that?” Jimmy teased. The hand on his ass slipped inward a little, fingers dipping just barely into the cleft of his ass. The touch was teasing too and Sam found it hard to beg around the taste of bile in his mouth. “Speak up, Sammy.” Jimmy said, voice suddenly hard, dangerous, as he rolled his hips, crushing their erections together. The friction through the denim was too much and too little all at once.

“Please.” Sam whimpered. Jimmy went still as stone around him for a heartbeat before abruptly pulling away. There was only a few inches between them but it still left Sam gasping at the absence, suddenly bereft.

“Beg me for it. I wanna hear it pass through those fucking lips of yours.” Jimmy damn near growled. His tone completely at odds with the calm, almost serene and pleasant expression on his face. As if his lips weren’t kiss swollen. As if his dick weren’t out, hard and leaking between them. Sam felt his jaw drop a little, mouth suddenly dry as dust as his mind whited out. “Beg. Me. For. It.”

“Oh fuck Jimmy please just fuck me” Sam felt the words twist up on his tongue, nearly bleeding together in their rush to escape him. His pulse kicked up another notch and a little, distant voice in his head wondered if he’d simply keel over from a heart attack if it kept up the pace.

“As you wish.” Jimmy said and Sam let out a yelp as he was roughly spun around. With one hand between his shoulder blades and the other on his hip, Jimmy shoved Sam forward, bending him over the small desk. The edge dug into the tops of his thighs and Sam frantically struggled to find some way to support his upper body that now hung halfway off the other side. Bracing himself against the metal legs of the desk, Sam fought down a wave of dread as Jimmy pulled his jeans and boxers off with one rough tug, letting it all pool around his ankles. Sam hissed through clenched teeth as the cloth raked across his dick and left it trapped against the cold, hard wood of the desk.

One of Jimmy’s hands pressed down on the middle of his spine, pinning him in place as the other hand disappeared. A soft click behind him was followed immediately by something cold and wet dripping down on to his heated skin. One of his hands slipped off the table leg in surprise and Sam tried to regain his support as a thumb swiped through the slick mess and pressed against his hole, massaging the lube into where it’d be needed most.

A muted, electronic bell sounded above them and Sam let out a strangled gasp. School. Class. His lunch period was over and study hall was about to start.

“Oh fuck. Shit! Oh f-” Sam panicked; words streaming out of his mouth as he tried to dislodge Jimmy in the urgent rush to get up off the desk before they got caught. They had about four minutes until the late bell rang and students and Henriksen would start trickling into the room any second. A flash of messy blonde hair just outside the classroom door hammered that thought home but Jimmy wouldn’t budge, the hand still jammed into Sam’s spine held him immobile as he struggled.

It took him a good long moment to register Jimmy’s laughter echoing off the walls.

“Wha - Dude, get the fuck off me!” Sam hissed. Jimmy ignored the request and did the exact opposite, draping himself across the expanse of Sam’s half-exposed back, clothed weight securing him against the desk. Sam punctuated his demand by bucking against him again, but the movement did little more than zero in his attention back to the finger still pressed against his ass. His naked ass. “Fuck! We're gonna g-”

“No. We aren’t,” Jimmy said, lips pulling at the fabric of Sam’s shirt, now bunched up under his armpits.

“What? What do you mean we aren’t?” Sam continued to fight, wearing himself out against the solid weight on his back. Another laugh vibrated through Jimmy’s chest even as he began grinding himself against the smaller body under him.

“Well... Henriksen is away at a conference, and Garth-” Jimmy leaned his weight to the right. “- got pulled out of school today for a doctors appointment. Mr. Trenton and Mr. Talley-” Sam gasped, every muscle going rigid as Jimmy inserted a single finger into him in one smooth movement right down to the last knuckle. “- were kind enough to decide it was a good idea to beat the shit out of some poor kid, so we won't be seeing them for a little while. Now shut. The fuck. Up,” Jimmy said, pumping his finger into Sam’s ass to punctuate the command. Sam could barely process the information, warring emotions raging through him as Jimmy continued to finger his ass.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Sam rasped, barely managing anything above a whisper. “Stop.”

“I said shut up, Sammy.”

Jimmy lifted up off of him, using his other hand to spread Sam’s ass apart to watch his finger disappear into Sam’s body. The rough burn was slowly fading as Sam forced himself to give in, submit. He let himself sag against the desk, chest and head hanging limp off the edge as his body rocked with the movement, and just let the sensations wash over him; the stretch and drag of Jimmy’s finger in his ass, the heat seeping into the backs of his thighs, the pressure of the desk against his half-hard cock, the knuckles hitting his sit bones and his toes pressed into the ground.

“God you’re tight,” Jimmy groaned. “I’d almost believe you’d never done this before...if you weren’t such a needy little slut for it.”

Something like shame reared up in him, heating his face but Sam didn’t get time to brood over it as the finger pumping into him slipped free, immediately replaced by the large, blunt head of Jimmy’s cock.

Sam had been expecting it, knew where this had been heading all along, had even begged him for it...but that still didn’t stop the _nodon’tpleasestopwantneed_ suckerpunch to the gut as Jimmy pushed his way inside him in one, agonizingly slow thrust. A piercing pain shot straight from his ass to his belly and back again before dying down into the deep burn of stretch that even the generous amount of lube couldn’t prevent.

There was just a moment. One suspended moment in time where Jimmy shuddered against his back, fingers clawing into the meat of his hips, muttering bits of half-formed praise and nonsense into his mostly still-clothed back. Sam could feel the undulating pulse of his teacher’s cock twitching inside him and the simple acknowledgement of it rekindled the pleasure rushing through him.

Impatient, Sam rolled his hips back with what little leverage he could manage, eliciting a dirty moan from the older man and the moment was over. Jimmy wrapped his large, calloused hands around his waist and stood back up, pulling Sam along with him and allowing Sam to get both feet planted on the ground again.

Jimmy gave him one last gentle roll of his hips before he pulled out, flared head catching on Sam’s raw rim, and slammed back home, pubic bone hitting tailbone with a fleshy slap. Sam only had enough time to suck in a noisy breath before Jimmy repeated the movement again and again, fucking into him.

The pain mixed with the tension rapidly building in his legs and groin had his toes curling in his shoes. Sam lifted himself up off the desk a few inches, elbows planted under him so he had room to meet Jimmy’s thrusts. The table squeaked in protest under them but it was barely even an audible over the sounds escaping Sam’s throat.

Jimmy wrapped his hands around Sam’s shoulders, arching him into a deeper backbend as he picked up the pace and Sam came with a startled cry, slicking the desk beneath him in hot spurts. He shook with the strength of it, spasming around the older man’s cock as Jimmy continued to fuck him through the aftershocks without pause.

“Mmm...good boy. I knew you’d be good for me.” Jimmy said, panting as he kept up his pace. The muscles in Sam’s arms failed and he slumped against the desk again, smearing come and sweat on his skin as Jimmy hammering into him quickly became too much. Sam whimpered and squirmed, his ass suddenly too hypersensitive for what was being done to it but it only seemed to encourage Jimmy more.

Jimmy leaned down over Sam, trapping him against the desk as he bit and sucked bruises along his back as he chased his own orgasm. When Jimmy shifted his position forward even more, hips thrusting with a sharp snap, his cock brushed into something deep in Sam’s core that shoved the sensation of _too much_ over into a flare bright pain, forcing Sam to involuntarily clench down as a sob ripped from his throat. The noise sent Jimmy over the edge, hips stuttered to a jerky roll as he moaned into Sam’s skin.

After a few shaky thrusts, as if Jimmy was loathe to stop despite the orgasm, he stood up and let himself slip free. Sam laid there, muscles like jelly, feeling soggy and weak, trying to catch his breath.

“Here. Clean yourself up.” Jimmy said between heavy breaths, voice still ragged. Something light and soft landed on Sam’s back and he twisted a sluggish arm around to reach it. The roll of paper towels shifted, threatening to disappear off onto the floor but he caught it at the last second.

Sam shifted to get up, wincing at the stickiness that seemed to coat _every_ inch of him and the ache that felt bone deep. The comfortable, post-orgasm bliss and relaxation was long gone. Quite literally fucked out of him. He wasn’t so sure his legs could take his weight, but he eventually managed to get them to hold as he quickly wiped off his chest and stomach before pulling his shirt back into place. Sam’s face bunched up in disgust as he took the crumpled up paper towel and wiped at the slick mess between his thighs. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the milky-clear fluid pink tinged and streaked with red.

After a few minutes, and a lot more paper towels, Sam was once again dressed and feeling a little less sticky. Jimmy reappeared, looking as if he hadn’t just finished nailing a student into oblivion.

The calm, mischievous smile was back, lifting the corners of his still kiss-swollen lips and crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. Sam just stood there, a wad of slimy paper towels in both fists, and watched Jimmy close the distance between them. The faint smell of baby powder hung around him as he slid a mint green slip across the desk.

Sam looked down at it, his stomach doing a weird little twist, and looked back up at Jimmy in confusion.

“There's still about an hour of class. Enjoy second lunch.” Jimmy said, sounding way too casual and formal for Sam’s taste. He gave Sam a brief little nod and turned back around, walking into the office without another word.

Sam stared back down at the little innocuous piece of paper and watched one corner turn dark with moisture. Sam swallowed against the thick, nauseous feeling creeping up his throat and tried to live in the raw, blank, nothing inside his chest. He snatched up the paper, shoving it into his pocket along with the sopping wads of tissue as he left the room.

  
~~~

Two days later, Sam found himself heading back towards study hall on his lunch. Anxiety and butterflies twisting in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jimmy again. He knew it wouldn’t be like last time. Couldn’t. Henriksen would be there. Sam had seen him in the hallway earlier in the day, but he was still antsy to be in the same room as Jimmy. The idea of seeing him again, sitting at that desk knowing what they’d done, what they’d do again, already had him at half-mast in his jeans. He wasn’t sure what he’d say, what he was going to do once he actually got there to explain his early arrival to class. But it didn’t matter...he just needed to get it over with.

He’d spent the previous two days at home; sore and exhausted, it had been fairly easy to convince Mary that he’d been too sick for school. Alone in the quiet house, left with his thoughts, he had felt almost manic. Trapped. His mind couldn’t seem to settle on an emotion. One moment he was sated, tranquil, jacking off to the memory of every kiss and touch and word until his dick was just as sore as his ass. The next he’d find himself pacing, battling against a panic attack fueled by the guilt and shame and disgust filling his veins.

The blank moments in-between were the worst. Void and empty; he smoked in the backyard, sipped at his parents vodka stash, blared music over his headphones until his ears hurt, until feeling started to creep its way back in. At the end of the day he’d scrub his skin raw in the shower, destroying the smell of smoke and alcohol before his parents returned for dinner. Scrubbing away the memories that seemed embedded in his skin.

By the third morning, he knew he couldn’t pull off another day at home without losing his mind.

Sam walked through the classroom’s open door and immediately turned towards the office, only to find it empty.

“What do you need, Winchester? It's still an hour until class,” Henriksen said. Sam jumped, turning to find the tall teacher straightening up desks and picking up bits of trash around the room. Victor sounded amused, almost happy, and Sam decided he didn’t like it.

“I...um...I’m looking for Jimmy?” Sam said and watched Henriksen straighten up, face hardening a little as he looked over Sam.

“What for?”

“We...he was just...helping me with one of my papers and I wanted to ask him a question,” Sam forced out. His mind suddenly felt filled with thick sludge.

“And that couldn’t wait until class?” Henriksen asked, the firm set to his jaw hardened a little more. Sam shrugged. He wasn’t sure he could manage more under the scrutiny. Henriksen let out a soft sigh and something in him seemed to give.

“He doesn’t work here anymore, Sam,” His tone was gentler but he still looked at Sam like he was watching for something, probably waiting for Sam to do something he could bust him for. “Some sort of family emergency back in California pulled him away. He called yesterday to let us know he wouldn’t be returning. I’ll be finishing out the year alone unless we can find a replacement.”

Sam felt like the floor had fallen out from under him. His heart wasn’t beating. His lungs hung deflated and useless in his chest. Numbness crept through his limbs and deadened his nerve endings.

“Oh,” Sam heard himself say, deadpan. His brain sputtered back to life and Sam took a shallow breath. “Okay.”

Sam heard Henriksen’s “See you in class, Winchester,” as he turned as walked back out of the room.

~~~

Sam pushed his way through the library doors, weaving around the meager lunch crowd and discarded return carts as he moved towards the secluded back corner of the room. The quiet, close little space never failed to comfort him. Or at the very least, calm jittery energy squirming under his skin.

He took his time skimming through the worn spines, running a finger up and down each title as he passed it by. They were shelved haphazardly, ranged from horror to fantasy, YA and adult mixed together and he recognized them all. After several rows, Sam plucked one from its shelf and settled himself down into a corner.

Twenty pages in and he was lost in the familiar characters and events, but the hollow deadened feeling in his chest refused to fade.

“Hey man! Where the hell have you been?” Meg said, plopping herself down next to him. Sam gritted his teeth and continued to stare at his book but the words were lost on him.

“I’ve been sick,” He said and closed the book, leveling what he hoped was an epic bitch-face her way. It felt forced. Meg side-eyed him and made a disbelieving sound in her throat even as she nodded knowingly. “You skipping out on class again?” He finally asked, changing the subject. She flashed him a grin.

“Nadda. Just taking an extra long bathroom break. World history blows.-” She rolled her eyes. “-So I’m gonna see you in fifth right? Because seriously...I will skip if I have to go-it-alone one more day.”

“Yeah, yeah. Calm your shit. I’ll be there,” Sam said.

“Good.” Meg paused. “Hey...did anything ever happen with that teacher? You were all freaked out about it and then...nothing.”

She voiced it as a joke. Something to tease him out of his slump but Sam could tell by the edge in her voice that she was worried about how he’d answer. At least as worried as Meg seemed capable of getting, which normally hovered just slightly above apathy. Sam shook his head, feeling the darkest parts of him stir up inside him. He felt like a whore. Something to be used and passed off, thrown away. Useless. It wasn’t anything new. A smile that was anything but happy curled his lips.

“No. Nothing happened,” Sam said and shrugged again.

“Good. Fucker was creepy, Sam,” Meg said, pushing her shoulder into his.

“Yeah well...He’s not even here anymore. You should really be getting back to class, slacker,” Sam said, pushing her back.

~~~

“Sam, honey, how are you feeling?” Mary asked. Sam looked up from his book to find her leaning in his doorway watching him. He felt his defenses raise up in her presence, on edge, but still didn’t even have the energy to lie.

“Not great. I’m still really tired,” He said. Mary gave him a half-smile before stepping into the room with him and sat on the bed a few feet from his chair.

“Well, your dad is working late, so we’re just going to fend for dinner. If you’re careful and don’t say anything to him, you can eat up here tonight if you want.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, because I’m going to rat myself out to Arthur about it,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Mary tilted her head towards him and gave him an admonishing look.

“We got your report card for this last quarter,” Mary said. Sam felt himself tense up, fear spiking his heart rate. “You’re doing really well, Sam. You had one C, in math, that needs to be worked on, but otherwise you’re doing good. We’re all really proud of you.”

Sam fought back the strong urge to tell her to stuff her pride, to tell her to fuck off. He wasn’t sure how his grades were still afloat. He couldn’t remember turning in any homework in the recent months. Couldn’t remember much beyond study hall and the taste of smoke on his tongue. It made his stomach churn to realize everything hadn’t crashed and burned around him while he was being bent over and fucked.

“Thanks mom.” Sam choked out and received a warm kiss to his forehead before he reached up and pulled his mother into a tight hug. After a moment he made himself pull away, let her run her fingers through his hair lovingly before turning to leave. She was a half step out the door before she turned back and tossed a pill bottle onto the bed.

“Almost forgot, you’re refill came in. Remember, only half doses from now on,” She said before leaving him be. Sam stared at the orange plastic. He tried to ignore it, tried to return to his book, but found his eyes sliding back to the bottle. After several minutes, he pulled himself up and out of the chair, snatching up the bottle as he left the room. He blanked out his mind and tried to ignore the dull, sinking feeling in his gut. Sam stepped into his bathroom as he tossed a pill into his mouth, swallowing it down with a mouthful of water from the sink.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos feed the muse and are always greatly appreciated!!!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, so many thanks to my absolutely amazing, wonderfully patient and endlessly kind beta reader CC_Sestra!! Without her, this story would not be what it is. She knows exactly how to reel in my crazy and straighten out my long winded rambling. I'm incredibly lucky to have her as my beta reader/editor! <3


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